


And Then There's You

by grantairas



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, and descriptions i guess, i am so bad at titles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-02-20 07:34:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2420390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grantairas/pseuds/grantairas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Achilles' father owns a diner. It's nothing special, until Patroclus starts working there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There wasn't much Achilles found more boring than his dad’s restaurant. The building was about a hundred years old, or at least it felt that way. The worst part was the kitchen, with the sickly-colored tiles and the smell of grease always weighing down the air. The only reason Achilles spent any time there at all was his mother; if he were home, she’d be a constant three feet away from him at all times, going on and on about his future and his potential. Once he had heard one of her rants, he had heard them all. And so Peleus’ sad little diner was where he ended up.

He was sitting on a counter in the kitchen, absently swinging his legs back and forth and narrowly missing the tower of dishes just inches away. He was only half-paying attention, until the door swung open.

Peleus came in, and just behind him there was another boy, about Achilles’ age. He was leaning towards Peleus to listen, his dark hair falling into his face. He was wearing a t-shirt and apron; the white fabric stood out against his skin.

When he looked up, Achilles met his eyes over the hanging frying pans.

He quickly looked away, embarrassed. He didn’t stare at people, especially people he didn’t know. People who apparently were new employees at his father’s restaurant, judging by the fact that Peleus was explaining in great detail the process of washing dishes.

“Again, I really appreciate you offering me this job,” the new boy said. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Whatever Peleus said in response, Achilles didn’t hear. He was focusing on the sound of the boy’s voice; it was deeper than he’d expected, but still gentle. He heard him start to laugh softly.

“If you need anything else, Patroclus, just let me know,” Peleus said. Achilles took his eyes off of the hem of his shirt to see Patroclus smiling as Peleus left the room.

So that was his name. Patroclus. Pa-tro-clus. It sounded like a name Achilles wanted to repeat.

He slid off the counter carefully, so Patroclus wouldn’t notice him leaving. He was self-conscious, suddenly, and wanted to step outside. When he had slipped out the back door, he leaned gratefully against the brick, and breathed in the exhaust.

Patroclus.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Achilles liked to watch Patroclus work. He liked the curve of his neck over the sink and the way his muscles moved under his t-shirt as he scrubbed the dishes. Sometimes, in between the waitress’s heads coming and going, their eyes would meet and Achilles would refuse to look away, just for the rush of it. Patroclus always averted his eyes back to the work in front of him, and Achilles would smile to himself as he thought of how good it felt to have that effect over someone.

So Achilles started coming to the diner everyday, perching himself on the counter on the other end of the kitchen where he could watch Patroclus and keep to himself. He thought of all the ways he could introduce himself, each one seeming a little better than the last. He liked the idea of making Patroclus smile or hearing his laugh and thinking, I did that. He wanted to make Patroclus happy, and they hadn’t even really met.

It was all he thought about anymore, on those long days when he stayed in the corner of the kitchen with Patroclus working just a few steps away.

One of those days he was so engrossed in his daydreams he hadn’t even noticed the kitchen emptying out. He and Patroclus were alone, but he wasn’t paying attention until Patroclus spoke up.

“Are you okay?” He was standing closer than Achilles had ever been to him, and for the first time he could see the details of his face. Even under the wash of fluorescent lights, he was beautiful.

“I’m fine,” Achilles said, still in a dream.

Patroclus was smirking, just a little. “I know we haven’t met properly. I’m Patroclus. I just started working here, if you noticed.” Then he glanced away. “I didn’t mean that how it sounded, I just... you’re always thinking about something else, I can tell-”

“I noticed.”  He sat up a little straighter and looked into Patroclus’ eyes. “I'm Achilles. My dad’s the owner.”

Patroclus was smiling again. “I knew that.”

He had brown eyes. Brown, but deeper than the color of earth. It was a brown that was like warmth. Achilles loved having his attention, all of it, and for the time they spent talking all the grease and dirt of the room around them didn’t matter. Only the rhythm of Patroclus’ voice, the way his eyes flickered to Achilles and then away again like he was embarrassed.

He had another job before this, but he’d been fired. There was a fight, not his fault, but he had to defend himself. That was it. But his explanation made no difference. So he was here, working for Peleus.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Achilles said. Then, more gently, “You’re the only interesting thing about this place.”

It was midnight when they left each other, and Achilles could still feel the glow from Patroclus’ eyes on his.


	3. Chapter 3

Achilles started spending all his time with Patroclus. He knew he got in the way, but he didn’t care; Patroclus would splash him with the soapy water from the sink and they would laugh and somehow it always ended with Achilles hands on Patroclus’ skin. Brushing the tips of his fingers against his wrist to see if he’d notice, wrapping his arms around his waist to distract him. On Patroclus’ break they’d sit behind the restaurant shoulder to shoulder, and sometimes for a moment Patroclus’ hand would rest on Achilles’ thigh. They didn’t always speak. They didn’t need to.

Peleus noticed. He said to Achilles, “You might as well start working here. You never cared about this place until he came in.”

And Achilles smiled because it was true.

Patroclus was waiting tables now, darting in and out from the swinging door with the tray always balanced perfectly between his shoulder and his slender arm. Achilles waited patiently for him, and distantly he noted how the thin fabric of Patroclus’ familiar white shirt was pulled tight across his chest. When Patroclus was at his side again, Achilles leaned back against the wall and looked coolly over Patroclus’ shoulder.

“What’s so interesting?” he asked, leaning forward so Achilles had to fight to look away. He was laughing as Patroclus’ face came closer, laughing as he had to turn his head away from Patroclus’ overpowering smile, laughing as their skin met and Patroclus whispered, still grinning, “Tell me.”

He wasn’t going to move. He had Achilles pressed back against the wall, held there by Patroclus’ forehead on his temple. Achilles wanted to say it; he almost did. It’s you. Patroclus. He thought back to the first day they had seen each other, and all the days after that, and now, where if he turned just a bit to the right they could kiss. He thought about all this and wanted in that moment to say it out loud, finally.

But then Patroclus was pulling away. And there was his father’s voice, loud, saying, “Patroclus, we need you out here.” And Patroclus looked back, an apology on his face. He turned away. And Achilles looked down at the floor, too proud to show what that felt like.

He didn’t notice that Patroclus had turned around. He wasn’t thinking, until Patroclus touched his cheek, and leaned forward to press a light kiss to Achilles’ lips.

Their eyes met again. They understood each other with no words, like Achilles knew they always had. Patroclus turned away, and Achilles saw the way he bit his lip to keep from smiling. 


End file.
